


what molly knows

by freckledshoulderblades



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Molly Lives AU, also loose canon interpretation, matthew mercer if molly comes back and gets hurt i'll cry sir, there's kissin in this there fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 13:23:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16388519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledshoulderblades/pseuds/freckledshoulderblades
Summary: This is what Molly knows.He has nine eyes, littered across his body - tattooed and not his but in the same breath, his own to control.He’s found a family in this circus, this ragtag bunch of misfits. Molly thinks he might fit in quite well here, with his tarot readings and sword swallowing.He’s only lived two years.Molly lives and dies and lives again.





	what molly knows

This is what Molly knows.

He has nine eyes, littered across his body - tattooed and not his but in the same breath, his own to control.

He’s found a family in this circus, this ragtag bunch of misfits. Molly thinks he might fit in quite well here, with his tarot readings and sword swallowing.

He’s only lived two years.

Molly understands too well the immovable fog that permeates his thoughts - the inability to focus, the haze that overtakes him whenever he tries to  _ remember _ . There’s pain, too, in the back of his mind. The sort of frustrating, blinding pain that encompasses every thought you create, the sort of pain that comes with having been awake too long, or focused on a point for too long.

Yasha understands, to a point. Tall and quiet and surly, she’s been stuck to his side ever since the troupe’s journey to Xhorhas.

Escaping something, maybe, but Molly knows better than to ask. He doesn’t have much to offer in return in that sort of conversation anyways.

So he travels, and lives and breathes and then he meets another ragtag bunch - a smelly wizard, fidgety goblin girl. A jovial tiefling, an annoying monk, a half orc with a strange sword.

And then he joins them.

 

This is what Molly remembers:

The familiar pain of metal cutting into flesh magnified by thousands as their enemy - the slaver, the one who stole Yasha and Jester and Fjord - cuts into him easily.

He falls prone, scant feet from the man about to murder them all, and he draws on the strange power he’s been cultivating.

He’s unlucky, this time. This time it takes more than it should have.

Molly feels his life drain from him, out through his fingertips into the sword. He falls unconscious.

He feels, briefly, that same pain of sword in flesh, and then nothing.

Molly travels, and he dies.

 

This is what Molly senses:

He comes to with stiff joints and the taste of dirt and fungi in his mouth. He coughs, expecting blood, but just rasps with the lack of moisture.

This feels too familiar, horrifyingly familiar, so he runs through what he knows.

His name is Mollymauk. He’s been traveling with a group of idiots calling themselves the Mighty Nein. He fell in their last battle.

He opens his eyes then, finally, and wheezes out a plea for water.

Yasha, standing vigilant at the door, loses some of her stance at his words. The gentleman beside him, a too tall firbolg with pink hair curling into his eyes, hands him a steaming cup. Molly attempts to take it, but can’t find the strength to move his arms.

The firbolg immediately shifts so that he can instead help Molly drink, a warm hand lightly resting against Molly’s chin. The drink is pleasant, earthy with just enough spice that he feels far more present than before.

An orange tabby materializes in the room, bounding onto the bed with a curious gaze. Molly hears a thud from outside as Frumpkin crawls into his lap and kneads the blankets.

“I’m gonna need to ask you a few questions there, friend. Whenever you feel ready.” The firbolg states, and Molly clears his throat a few times.

“What’s your name?” he manages, and the firbolg smiles.

“Caduceus Clay. What’s yours?”

“Mollymauk.”

Yasha lets out a sigh of relief from the door and Molly shoots her a grin - he knows that’s exactly what she was waiting for.

“Alright, Molly. How’d you like the tea?”

Molly laughs a little, thrown off by the question. “Fine, I guess. Spicy.”

Caduceus looks back at Yasha, who’s watching the encounter with a straight face.

“Always wondered how that’d pan out.”

He takes a moment to go over Molly, checking his pulse and various responses, before he stands back up, seemingly pleased.

“Well, Molly, everything checks out. You should probably get some more rest, but you’ll be ready for action in about a week.” Caduceus pauses, rubbing lightly at his scruffy chin. “By action, I mean walking. You probably shouldn’t fight for a while.”

The door opens with a shove and Yasha has only a moment to react, drawing Magician's Judge as a furious Caleb forces his way inside. Frumpkin poofs out of existence in the same breath.

“I thought,” he begins, and Molly tries to take in all he can - he’s _missed_ this man, “I thought we agreed that this was not a course we were going to take.”

Yasha’s stone faced, but Molly can see her raising her sword in anger.

“We agreed that we wouldn’t bring him back, and you agreed as well. There is a  _ reason _ we did not bring him back,  _ Yasha _ .” Caleb’s seething, spitting words and ignoring Molly’s presence.

Caduceus stands to his full height, unclipping his staff from his back and tapping it lightly on the ground. A wave of calm washes over Molly, and he can nearly see the tension in the room leave.

“I think we should all calm down.” Caduceus warns.

Caleb glances over at Molly with red-rimmed eyes.

“I am glad that you are back, Mollymauk. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Molly gets the sense that something has shifted terribly in his absence.

 

This is what Yasha explains.

An elder god playing patron to people round the world - Fjord, once mild mannered and cautious, revealed to be one of those receiving power. She hesitates, and mentions how he’s obviously holding a secret in the way he changes his voice. None of the Nein quite know what to make of him anymore.

 

Yasha goes on to explain their current situation - the possible release of said elder god into their realm, Fjord’s possible acquisition of powers that could let him control the sea.

Molly’s potential involvement.

“Nine eyes,” she forces out, “and you have nine on you. The tattoos you couldn’t remove.” Yasha rubs her eyes, smudging some of her ever present war paint. “We thought there might be a connection, a reason you lived through death once.”

Molly’s chest aches. “Why was Caleb so angry? What did he mean when he said ‘better circumstances’?”

Yasha glances away, avoiding his gaze.

“I wasn’t there for the whole of it. Jester tried to fill me in, but we were distracted by battle.” Her words are slow, painful, as they always are. “Something about seals and eyes and how you needed to stay in the ground.”

His breath catches. “Lorenzo killed me.”

Head downturned, Yasha closes her eyes.

“Yash, how long have I been dead?”

“Two years.” A voice sounds from the door, high and reedy. Nott hops up on the bed, pulling the familiar ceramic down to expose her yellowed, jagged teeth. “You’ve been dead for two years. I’m a little surprised there was anything left to resurrect, honestly. Deuce did good.”

Molly lets his head thunk back against the headboard, preferring the slight pain to thinking about this any longer. He feels a hand grasp his, thick and calloused, and sighs.

“I missed my best friend.” Yasha says.

He draws her into an awkward, stunted hug. Nott smiles wide from beside them, the sight appropriately terrible.

“So! What’s the plan, then?” Molly wipes at his eyes as Yasha returns to her seat. 

Nott shrugs. “When have we ever had a plan?”

 

This is what Molly sees.

Five days after he wakes he finally has the strength to stand, and then to walk. Molly dresses in the most garish clothes he can find, pleased as punch to find his coat hung in the nearby wardrobe. The stairs prove a bit trickier than expected, leaving him breathless and flushed by the time he makes his way to the downstairs tavern.

Jester sees him first, lighting up with her entire body. Molly leans against the doorframe with a cocky smile.

“MOLLYMAUK TEALEAF, WELCOME BACK TO THE MIGHTY NEIN.” She calls out, accent still heavy as ever. The rest of the table perk up, with everyone but Caleb glancing over in his direction.

Fjord grins, standing up to help Molly over to a seat. Beau snags a chair from a nearby table, narrowing her gaze when the other patrons start to complain.

“Really?” She hisses. “He’s a cripple, and you’re gonna be dicks?”

“Not a cripple,” Molly chimes in helpfully. Beau flips him off as she positions the chair for him to sit, in between Caduceus and Nott.

“Molly, what was it like to be  _ dead _ ?” Jester asks, and the rest of the Nein collectively groan.

Fjord’s “Jes, thought we weren’t gonna -” is drowned out by Nott’s “He hasn’t even eaten!”, and Molly can feel his chest seize a little from the affection.

Caduceus slides a plate of standard fare breakfast over to Molly, and he digs in as the others begin to talk.

“Yasha, have you filled him in?”

“He’s heard everything we know.” Nott interrupts.

“Okay, good. We need to figure out who knows more than us, so we can decide what to do next.”

“Do you think the Cobalt Reserve has any information on Uk’otoa?”

Beau hums absently. “I mean, it’s possible. If anyone, it’ll probably be them. Caleb, wanna go look?”

Caleb, silent so far, turns his gaze on Molly. “I would like to try something a little different.”

Molly winks. “Oh Mister Caleb, you need only have asked.”

Caleb’s stare hardens. “Caduceus, what we discussed.”

The firbolg man remains quiet, staring into his tea. Caleb sighs. “Caduceus.” He repeats, louder this time.

Caduceus jolts, wide bovine eyes glancing about. “Right, right.” He mutters in his deep voice. Clears his throat, shifts his chair over to face Molly a little more head on, and places a large, grey hand on Molly’s forehead.

Pinpricks rush over his skin from the point of contact and Molly shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Caleb’s sharp gaze isn’t doing anything to make him feel at ease in the situation, but Caduceus is calm and relaxed as he speaks lowly.

“Molly, can you tell us anything about Uk’otoa?”

“No.” he replies, confused.

Caleb’s stare softens.

“Anything about cults and eyes and whatnot?”

Molly nearly laughs. “Well, I know plenty of cults. And I’ve got quite the experience with eyes, seeing as I have two of my own.”

Caduceus smiles wide. “That’s very funny. That’s just great.”

Beau chimes in from across the table. “He doesn’t know anything, Caleb. Leave him alone.”

Frumpkin materializes into Caleb’s lap, purring and kneading at the wizard, and he sighs out a curse. “I feel as though that may just make all of this worse.”   


Yasha, brows furrowed, leans forward. “What do you mean?” she asks in her slow, lilting voice. Caleb rubs at his temples, shifting some of the dirt there, and shakes his head.

“If he is connected, but does not know anything, there could be those that seek to take him from us.”

Jester pouts from her side of the table, slamming a hand down to garner attention. “What if it’s just a coincidence? Lots of people have lots of eyes, Caleb.”

Beau nods in agreement, and Fjord frowns.

“Not like Molly’s. Not like Avantika’s.”

Molly, watching the exchange, cracks a hesitant grin.

“How about tonight, we just….forget about all of that? Let’s celebrate. Take our minds off of whatever the hell is going on.”

Seven pairs of eyes fix on him, and Molly feels anxiety stir low in his gut. Beau kicks her feet up on the table, much to the protest of the woman running the bar, and breaks the silence by cupping her mouth with her hands and shouting, “BAR CRAWL!”

 

Their third, possibly fourth tavern in, and near everyone in the Nein is falling over themselves with the liquor coursing through their system, an easy familiarity returned to the way Jester swings in time with the beat, with how Beau and Yasha arm wrestle to the chagrin of the owner, in how Caleb’s arm is slung over Molly’s shoulder as he regales him with tales of jungles and temples and undead.

There’s another familiarity in the way Molly’s heart seizes whenever Caleb’s face gets a little too close or when his touch lingers a heartbeat too long.

_ Recently dead _ , he thinks, trying to catch the feeling before it can bloom hope.  _ Two years dead, in fact _ .

Jester’s dancing shifts over towards them, and she gathers Caleb in her arms with little effort - some things never quite change. Molly watches them bemusedly, taking sips from his flagon, as Fjord makes his way over and sits in what was previously Caleb’s seat.

“Mister Fjord, wonderful to see you.” he drawls, and Fjord waves him off with a blushing grin. His eyes are locked on the twirling figures of Jester and Caleb and as he leans back in the chair, Molly swears he can see the ruddy flush from the alcohol deepen.

Fjord turns into Molly’s space and sighs. Molly quirks a brow, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “That’s a very specific sort of sigh, my friend. Care to tell what ails you?”

“They look nice, don’t they?” Fjord slurs, and oh, he’s  _ very _ drunk for this kind of talk.

Molly leans in closer, admiring the play of light on green skin, and purrs. “Oh yes, ravishing, the lot of them. Which one in particular has caught your eye?”

Fjord takes a breath, which seems to sober him up just enough for him to realize what he’s saying. His blush reddens even further, a surprising color on a half orc, and he jolts away from Molly with a stammer.

“They’re, they’re both nice.” he says after a moment, ducking his head behind his hand. He gives Molly a quick glance before taking a long draft from his glass. “But I quite think Caleb’s affections lie elsewhere.”

A lump catches in Molly’s throat at this, and he plasters on a smile and swallows it down.  _ Of course. _ “Oh? Seems I’ve missed all the gossip, what’s her name?”

Fjord gives him a sobering look, too serious for the levity Molly’s trying to project, and Molly stands with a flourish.

“Why Fjord, it would seem your drink is empty. Allow me to fetch you another.”  
  


They retire late, too late to really call it night anymore so much as the wee hours before dawn, and Molly lingers on the steps to their quarters as the Nein pass him and pass on their too drunk well wishes.

Caduceus and Caleb linger as well, taking up a table in the far corner of the tavern as Caleb speaks animatedly. Every few moments Caduceus nods, or smiles, and Molly has to take a deep breath to tamp down the horrible coil low in his gut. Instead, he abandons his plans of a late night’s rest and saunters over to the bar to order another drink.

The bartender, a homely older woman, isn’t too entirely pleased to be serving him at this hour. When Molly slides over a full five gold in response to her question of which drink he’d prefer, her eyes widen and she hands him a full bottle of thick liquor from under the counter. 

Caduceus smiles up at him as Molly approaches their table with bottle and glasses in tow, declining when Molly offers him a drink.

“No thanks, not really my thing.” he rumbles in his deep voice, and Molly shrugs.

Caleb’s eyeing the bottle with the fervor of a sobering man, and gladly takes the shot Molly offers him.

“I should really get to bed.” Caduceus murmurs, and pats Caleb on the head as he stands to leave. “Night Mister Caleb, Mister Molly.”

Molly fixes Caleb with an even stare, one brow raised. “I thought I called you Mister Caleb,” he teases.

Caleb swears, something low and guttural in Zemnian, and draws himself up to a proper sitting position. “It was weird,  _ ja _ . You were gone, and he was there, and he said some of the same things.” He takes his shot, glass meeting the table not a scant second later. “Very strange.”

The lump in his throat is back, and Molly’s smile fades briefly. “I’m sorry, Caleb. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to leave.”

Caleb’s eyes are closed and he nods. “ _ Ja _ . We know, we all know that objectively, it’s just -”

He sighs, rubs his hands on his temples and frowns when they come back dirty. With a snap the dirt seems to shimmer off his form and Molly’s staring at a cleaner Caleb.

“We know you didn’t mean to leave, Molly. We don’t blame you for that. We are just scared that this is a dream, or that you will be taken from us again in some way.” Caleb finally meets his eyes and he frowns.

“Smile, circus man. We have all missed you. And you are back.”

There’s something about the light, about how the flickering candlelight from the nearby tables seem to just barely illuminate Caleb’s face as he speaks, how they reflect off his eyes and Molly can’t quite believe he’s never noticed how strikingly blue his eyes were -

He’s leaned forward before he can quite understand what he’s doing, and Caleb’s hands are fisted in his hair as their lips meet and Molly can really only taste the tang of liquor, but this is more than he’s ever quite dreamed of doing and Caleb  _ shifts _ and bites down and Molly -

Molly pulls away with a ragged gasp, confused at the way his hands are fisted in the lapel of Caleb’s jacket, and locks eyes with Caleb. Caleb, who’s adopted a dreamy, far away expression that’s fading with every second Molly spends catching his breath.

“What are you doing, Mollymauk?” he asks, and Molly’s heart sinks low, beating hard, and Caleb’s hand tightens around the base of his neck.

“Why did you stop?” Caleb breathes, and pulls Molly back in, slotting their mouths together and rubbing at Molly’s neck with one hand, his clavicle with another. They spend minutes locked together before Caleb pulls him forward into his lap and  _ oh _ -

“Get a room!” The woman from the bar calls out, clearly annoyed by this entire endeavor, and Caleb parts them with a heady sigh. He’s got a thumb on Molly’s lip, seemingly amazed by the feeling of the skin beneath, and Molly’s tail is whipping back and forth erratically as he shifts playfully in the wizard’s lap.

“Is that a wizard’s tome in your pocket -” he begins, and Caleb groans in mock annoyance, pulling him up and towards their room.

 

This is what Molly knows.

He has nine eyes, tattooed across his body, and the morning light plays tricks on his skin in ways that are absolutely fascinating.

He’s found a family in the idiots that call themselves the Nein, and perhaps something more with a smelly wizard that sleeps soundly to his left.

He’s lived two years and nearly a week more after his second death.

Molly takes in his surroundings - a cheap inn with cheaper beds, a window with ratty curtains that light bleeds through, and a lithe, strong man stretched out comfortably in the space next to him.

There’s uncertainty - there always is in a world like this, with cultists that speak of mystical eyes, leviathans, and gods that intervene - 

But at this moment, Mollymauk is content.

**Author's Note:**

> i can honestly say that i have cried more over mollymauk than i have literally any other character  
> i'm also a huge slut for fix it fics, and listen, taliesin, i believe that you have the ability to play two characters at once, you got this boo  
> tbh tho if molly does end up coming back i expect so much art of how molly is basically a revolving door with death  
> comments are appreciated and give me motivation to write more stuff! <3


End file.
